


Tastes like Brooklyn

by FerrousAnnoyance (this_is_pandamonium)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Artist Steve Rogers, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Background relationships come later, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, Maybe some smut down the line, Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, That was a good idea, Tony Being Tony, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony is a vampire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-26 18:42:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3860536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_pandamonium/pseuds/FerrousAnnoyance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"An art gallery? Really? Come on, Pep, you pulled me away for this? As if I haven't seen enough of it already. At least in the Internet deprived world they didn't just throw paint at a canvas with a cow skull or something and call it a masterpiece. Seriously. I'm all for expression, the human mind is a complex place, yada yada yada, but I'm going nuts staring at-" He breaks off mid sentence, honing in on the fine specimen existing over by himself in the corner. How no one is flocking around him like vultures on a carcass is -okay, not the best simile- a mystery. "Staring at gorgeous men who are probably hallucinations. When was the last time I ate? Three days ago?"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em>Mm. Finder's keepers, right? This one's his.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea at three in the morning, so I attribute its randomness to a tired brain.  
> The historical aspect of this -as in Tony's past- is probably not completely accurate because my U.S. history was an eternity ago and research is not my forte. I apologize if this offends you.  
> Also, the reason no one notices Tony doesn't age is because vampires, in this universe, have a camouflage/glamour of sorts that causes people to simply accept them. I know, lame.  
> Mistakes are mine, since this doesn't have a beta.

Anthony Stark was born two hundred years ago in the days prior to the emancipation of slavery. He was the son of a large industry owner who manufactured weapons and was credited with helping the North win the war.

Naturally they were not so popular in the South, but Howard Stark was determined to use the abundant resources there for his growing company. After constructing factories in the South, he built an extravagant, grandiose estate in a small community. 

Anthony was notorious in the area for his intellect and tendency to cause trouble, and because of the growing disdain for the Starks, his father sent him to a school in New York City. He was an exemplary student, if he weren't so "arrogant and determined to drive the headmaster insane". Unfortunately, shortly after his graduation as the top of the class, his parents were killed in a fire that was deemed an accident. 

He was left to his own devices at a young age, and as a result, went on to live a lavish, reckless life. All the parties, courting, and overall irresponsibility drew to a halt when an accident during an experiment he participated in placed the young Stark on his death bed. However, after a redheaded woman paid the dying man a visit, he made a miraculous recovery. That woman was one Virginia "Pepper" Potts, and she had transformed Tony into a vampire in return for managing his company as CEO.

And the rest was, as they say, history.

* * *

"An art gallery? Really? Come on, Pep, you pulled me away for this? As if I haven't seen enough of it already. At least in the Internet deprived world they didn't just throw paint at a canvas with a cow skull or something and call it a masterpiece. Seriously. I'm all for expression, the human mind is a complex place, yada yada yada, but I'm going nuts staring at-" He breaks off mid sentence, honing in on the fine specimen existing over by himself in the corner. How no one is flocking around him like vultures on a carcass is -okay, not the best simile- a mystery. "Staring at gorgeous men who are probably hallucinations. When was the last time I ate? Three days ago?"

Mm. Finder's keepers, right? This one's his. "Tony?" 

Look at his muscles. Damn, what does he do, bench motorcycles with three women on them? Tony wouldn't mind seeing some of that; imagine how he would look  _sweaty._

"Tony?"

And his neck, all pale and smooth, fuck, that would feel amazing beneath his teeth. His mouth waters at the prospect of sinking his fangs into that long stretch of gorgeous skin, tasting the pulse while that toned body writhes beneath him, head tossed back and-

"Tony!!"

"What?" He snaps back, angry that she interrupted his daydream, though he should be thanking her because glamour or not, people are going to talk about the great Tony Stark popping a boner at an art gallery of polka dots.

"I said, you're there because you're picking a new painting for the office. It will make the company look like we're supporting what's new and modern-"

"Just by getting a painting?" But of course he knows the answer; the public likes to read into everything they do, so if he has a piece commissioned by a coined 'new and modern' artist, they'll interpret Stark Industries as being with the times in more ways than technology. Weird, yes, but they wouldn't do this sort of thing if it didn't work.

Still, none of this art looks like something he wants to pass by every day. 'Oh, so you made this by putting paint in a pepper shaker? Wow, it doesn't look anything like you just half-assed your way through creativity. Allow me to pay thousands of dollars for something my bodyguard's two year old niece can do better.' Fuck.

Sighing, he exchanges a few last words with Pepper, saying that yes, he knows he's not there for eye candy and yes, he'll definitely pick out a painting without causing anyone to cry out of embarrassment and humiliation, sheesh. "Bye Pep."

He looks around for tall and beautiful, easily spotting him standing awkwardly -aw, he's adorable- next to a piece that is obscured by a couple, who appear to be admiring it. Hopefully. He doesn't want anyone looking at blondie, and it's definitely ridiculous to be possessive over someone he hasn't exchanged words with -yet- but honestly? He doesn't give a shit.

Making his way over, he soon realizes that the stranger's even more stunning up close, old grandpa fashion sense aside (his clothes look like what Tony wore in the twenties). When the man looks up from where he was talking to the two at his painting, Tony notices his eyes are the prettiest blue he's ever seen, and that's saying something. Damn, he's got Tony wrapped around his finger just by existing.

"Mr. Stark?" He sounds surprised, like he couldn't comprehend Tony being there; he doesn't blame him, he is fairly otherworldly for most.

"That's me. Since you know who I am, I think it's fair you tell me your name."

"Oh! Right, um." He sticks out a hand for Tony to shake, staring at him with too earnest baby blues. "I'm Steve Rogers."

Accepting the hand, he shakes it twice, then clings to it a little longer than necessary. He has a firm grip, nice and strong and- 

He pulls away, sticking both hands in his pockets to keep from doing something crazy like shoving Steve against a wall to have his wicked way with him.  _Stop it, bad Tony, down._

To distract himself, he turns his gaze to the painting, and immediately his jaw is on the floor. It's...it's quite simply captivating. The scene itself isn't too remarkable, but- it's a mirror. It's a reflection, not a window as a brief glance may believe it to be; the large eyes that are faintly seen in the image of two people -genders unknown- with their heads bowed together as they sit side by side prove that it's a reflection as much as it is introspection, showing that they are seeing in the mirror what the artist feels. What they want.

Does he want connection? Does he want friendship? Does he merely want company or does he search for love?

Tony shakes his head, trying to clear his mind of the too deep levels of emotion clouding his judgement and thought, but Steve seems to think he doesn't like the piece, his shoulders hunching and expression that of a kicked dog (which Tony has had the misfortune of seeing).

"Whoa, hey, this painting, it's- it's pretty damn amazing." And Tony is hooked. He doesn't know this man at all and he's three minutes from following him home. 

"Really?" Steve's cheeks flush red, and the hope in his expression is heartbreaking as it is endearing. Fuck, he needs to get a hold of himself, this is getting out of hand. 

"Yeah. How much do you want for it?"

"What?"

"I want to buy it from you."

"I-" Steve inhales, looking even more awkward. "I'm not sure?"

"Tell you what, I'll give you fifteen grand. Sound good? I'll have a chat with the-"

"Fifteen thousand dollars??" Is that a squeak? Aww, it is. 

"Steve," Tony says, amused, "that's pocket change for someone like me. Come on, it'll pay for whatever it is you're lacking in." Not that he seems to be in need of anything other than Tony's hand in his-and whoa, where did that come from? Thinking about him earlier was fine, but now he's contemplating a relationship? Fuck his life. Why couldn't he just find someone on eHarmony like everyone else?

Unfortunately, his words have elicited an unhappy twist in Steve's expression. "So what, you feel bad for me? Is that it?" May day, he looks pissed off, abort mission, abort-

"No! I told you I like your painting, okay? And it's way better than some of the other shit here. Honestly, I'd love your piece on my wall."

"Language."

"What?" Steve doesn't appear as murderous now, in fact he's grinning, small and light and breathtaking. 

This better not be some love at first sight bullshit. This isn't Twilight. He doesn't sparkle and he hasn't ever been in a love triangle save for an ill-advised threesome, which doesn't count considering love wasn't involved. 

"You cursed."

"Thanks for noticing, glad you were listening-"

"This is a professional environment." Is Steve teasing him? He's teasing. This is stupid.

"Okay, fine, no more bad words, mom. Now can I buy your painting?"

* * *

Tony stares at the piece hanging on the office wall, Pepper regarding it as well. "It's certainly interesting."

"Interesting? Of course it is. I wouldn't have chosen it if it wasn't. It's way beyond all the other art, if you can even call some of that art, because honestly, I think Happy's niece should have entered a piece if those are considered what's hip and cool these days."

"But fifteen thousand? That's over what we wanted."

"Oh, well I wasn't going to spend five hundred bucks on something like this, plus Steve's a great guy and I figured hey, might as well, plus starving artists and all that could be literal, except he didn't look like he was starving, the  _muscles_ on that man-"

"Tony, you didn't buy this because you like the artist, did you?"

"What? No! Liking Steve is just a bonus. I mean, you'd have to be insane not to like the guy, he's adorable, reminds me of a little puppy but hotter and manlier and-"

"Tony."

"-and his eyes were better than looking at the sky, Pep, and he smelled so good, really, like pine and cologne-"

"Tony."

"-and imagine how he would taste, it'd be as good as he looks and just so damn delicious, I wanted to get my teeth in him right there and then with all those people-"

"Tony." She snaps him out of it by giving his cheek a gentle smack, causing his gaze to go to his sire, who's staring at him with clear amusement as well as- is that sadness? "Tony, you can't. This isn't a good idea, he's human. You remember the last time-"

"I got in with a human? How could I forget nearly burning alive? Pepper, he's not like that. He's good, I can _feel_  it."

"You thought that the last time. I don't want to see you hurt again, Tony." She's looking at him with concern now, a frown on her lips. He'd been able to kiss them once, until they figured out they weren't meant to be a couple. 

"I won't be."

* * *

Seventy years ago, Tony fell in love with a woman of ruby hair and emerald eyes. She'd enchanted him from the start, a quiet girl with a hidden biting wit, and he'd gone head over heels for her.

He'd courted her of course, took her to dance halls, movies, long walks through the park, until it'd been a year and he was convinced he could trust her. She said she loved him, and love was unconditional, right?

It hadn't gone well.

When he told her she didn't seem surprised, giving him this inscrutable look, and darkness had hit him suddenly. When he woke several hours later, it was to the smell of burning flesh, his burning flesh, as he was tied to the bed while fire ravaged his skin.

That agony had been unbearable. Experiencing the flames eat his body, lick whips through his nerves, was an indescribable pain that would visit his nightmares for years after.

Thankfully, Pepper returned on time to put it out, saving him in the process. It took five months for him to lose the scars (save for the one on his heart, as cliche as that is), so yes, she has reason to worry about Tony.

He only wishes that she wouldn't, and that he could stop thinking of Steve Rogers and his ability to set Tony ablaze without even striking a match.

Easier said than done.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, I did not expect this kind of reception at all.  
> You guys are amazing!!  
> Sorry for the short chapter, hopefully the next one will be longer :)

What Tony has always found ironic is that blood used to elicit a gag reflex from him, and growing up where he had? There was always someone bleeding. If a person walked next to him with a wrapped finger, cloth stained red, it was "hello, goodbye" and he was gone. When it happened to himself, he was stuck between getting medical attention and closing his eyes until it went away.

So now that he's a vampire, and blood is his source of sustenance, the irony is not lost on him, and he never fails to summon the occasional laugh over his antics back in the day. Damn he's old. Not as old as Pepper, but definitely not a spry, juvenile thing like Steve.

Whose neck he's currently five seconds away from drooling over. Stupid, useful sense of restraint, keeping him from enjoying himself and landing in prison afterwards. Of course, he could drain Steve dry, but that's not something he considers an option. Ever. In a million years, though Steve will be dead in that time, something he tries to avoid thinking about. Seriously. _Bad brain. Very bad._

"-and my friend Clint, you know what he said? 'Bet you didn't see that one coming'." Steve laughs, baring the smooth lines of his throat, and Tony's licking his lips, feeling like a starving dog staring at a steak-

"Steve!" Whoa, who is this? He has to physically pull himself back from launching across the table and hissing 'my precious' with his best Gollum voice, because Steve? Steve is his. And he's getting out of hand with the possessive behavior, but who wouldn't want to put a collar on him that says 'property of Tony Stark'?

No one.

"Hey, I was just telling Tony about you!" Seemingly oblivious to the way Tony is baring his teeth at the stranger, he proceeds to introduce his 'friend.' "Tony, this is Clint, Clint, this is Tony."

Clint is smirking, like he knows what Tony's thinking, and the two of them shake hands. Tony makes sure to squeeze a little harder than usual, and he internally cheers at the brief flicker of discomfort across his face. Tony: one. Clint: zero.

"It's a pleasure," Clint says, withdrawing his hand, which he places in his pocket. _That's right. Retreat._

"I'm sure it is."

"Where's Pietro?" Steve asks, drawing Tony's focus from where he was trying to make Clint combust through his stare alone. Steve dips one of his fries in mayonnaise; it's disgusting, frankly, but Steve said earlier he went to Belgium once and couldn't stop eating them in such a heinous manner. It's a testament to how much Tony likes him that he's letting it slide.

"He's with Wanda, I think."

"Pietro is Clint's-"

"Husband," the man finishes, smoothly sliding into the space left in Steve's booth. Husband? Okay. Maybe he can tolerate him now that he's not competition. Unless he's the type to cheat. Tony's eyes narrow; so do Clint's.

"Really? I didn't realize Steve had so many friends. No offense, Steve, it's just that artists tend to be reclusive types." Not true at all.

"So you've met many artists?" Steve wraps his lips around the straw of his drink, and why the hell did he ask him a question before doing that? It's unfair! How is he supposed to think straight when he has that pretty pink mouth doing frankly  _illegal_ things to that straw?

Clint kicks him; he's not sure if he should thank the guy or strike back. "Yeah. Just not any like you." Bingo. Steve's cheeks color a shade of red, and it's doing wonders for Tony's ego- not that it requires any attention in the first place.

"God, get a room."

"Like you aren't just as bad when Pietro's around," Steve shoots back, impressive considering he's so embarrassed, except maybe all the blood flow to his head has brought out more of the back talking Steve Rogers that lurks under there.

At least his blood flow is doing something productive. His is proving incredibly problematic.

(And yes, he has warm, temperature capable blood. Vampires can get it up too without the use of Viagra.)  

"Point." 

Tony opens his mouth to speak, but their waitress comes around with the check, which he snatches up before Steve can. "Hey, let me pay," the blonde protests, trying to reach across the table and retrieve it, but Tony is trained in the art of acting like a child and holds it over his head.

"Nope. I got this one."

"Tony, you just bought two days ago for over ten grand. The least I can do is cover the lunch bill."

"Nuh uh, Steve. No can do. I'm the one who asked you to meet me here, naturally I pay."

"Is this because you think I'm poor?" Oh, that had been such a bad idea to imply that. Apparently the universe hated him enough to keep Steve from letting that one go.

"What? Of course not! This is me trying to be a gentleman!"

"Well maybe I wanted to contribute after you spent more than a quarter of a year's average salary on one painting!!"

"You're not going to forget that, are you? Can't you just accept that I liked your art enough and that I'm a billionaire? I have money! Plenty of money!"

"So again you're calling me poor." Head, prepare to be acquainted with the table.

"Hey, I have an idea! Why don't you guys just split the bill!"

And that's how they end up each paying eighteen dollars and forty eight cents. A fee Tony could have covered without blinking an eye, but Steve is too stubborn to back down.

It's official: he's infatuated.

* * *

"Pepper, help. Help me, Pepper, you're my only hope."

"Oh no. Okay, what's wrong?" Bless her soul, if she were to have one. And that is not a ginger/strawberry blonde joke, all right?

"Steve."

"What did he do?"

"He was...Steeeve. Pepper this is bad, this is really bad. I mean I knew I liked him but it's been like two days, you can't feel that much for someone in two days, it took me a year for her and look where that got me!"

"Calm down, Tony. I thought you said you knew what you were getting into." He can hear her raised eyebrow.

"I know. I thought I did but it's too much. Pepperrr." He's whining now, flopping face first onto his bed, suit and all.

"Tony, some risks are worth taking. And I'm not saying that so you can interpret Steve as dangerous. I'm saying that you have to know if he's something you want to devote your time to."

"I want to give him all my time, Pepper. Everything."

"Well, there's your answer."

"Scarily efficient woman."

Sounding amused, she says,"I'm going to take that as a compliment. Goodbye Tony."

"Bye."

Now that he's alone, he can't stop thinking. Not that he ever can, but it feels like it's worse than ever, his moments filled with Steve, Steve, oh and did he mention Steve? 

"Tony Stark: genius, billionaire, vampire, playboy philanthropist with a way beyond healthy dose of Steve Rogers."

* * *

He doesn't expect the text message Steve sends him, but it's nonetheless welcomed. He'd be crazy _not_ to drop his blowtorch in favor of checking his phone. 

_Gorgeous: Hey Tony, are you free Friday?_

_T: Depends._

_Gorgeous: I was wondering if you wanted to go to a bar that night. I have some friends celebrating an anniversary._

_T: I'll be there, just text me the location._

_Gorgeous: Great! ;)_

Whoa. Wait a second. Is- is that  _a winky face?_ It is! Ha! 

Tony dances, before realizing that's not the best thing to do when he's picked up the blowtorch again. Damn it, he really liked this shirt; now he'll have to find a new one. Admittedly, that isn't a problem, but this was his favorite shirt, okay? Don't judge him.

* * *

Later, about a few hours after Steve texted him, his cell starts ringing with an unknown number on the screen. Normally he'd press ignore, but he's bored and television just isn't cutting it, so maybe if the caller bores him enough, TV will work. 

"You know who it is," he says, changing the channels, then doing so again when it's some kind of cooking show.

"Tony Stark?" The voice is familiar, a kind of familiar Tony doesn't like, and he sits up from where he was stretched out on the couch.

"Who is this?"

"It's Natasha." It's impossible for a vampire to have a heart attack, but there are no other words to describe the immense chest pain that bludgeons him, and his nose is clogged with the memory of the stink burning flesh causes. "Look, I-"

He throws the phone against the wall, not caring that it has shattered because it seems as though his ghosts have finally caught up.

Took them long enough. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, you guys are amazing and your comments really help keep me going :)  
> Thank you all!

Tony doesn't know what to do, and usually when that happens he calls Pepper -patient, helpful, reliable Pepper- except this time it isn't her number that he's dialing; it's Steve's. And the fact that he has it memorized is sad, though if he didn't he wouldn't have been able to call him considering he doesn't keep his backup phones recent.

Anyways.

He chews his thumbnail anxiously, pacing the room while waiting for the blonde to answer. "Pick up, come on, pick up, pick up, pick-"

"Hello!"

"Hey, Steve! Um-"

"Sorry, but I can't answer the phone right now. You know what to do!" Voicemail. It's the  _fucking voicemail._ Steve is simultaneously horrible and hilarious and Tony  _really_ does not have time for this because he's five seconds from having a mental breakdown involving going 72 hours without sleep to build some useless robot that does nothing but scream.

Because that's what he wants to do right now, but he can't get the energy past his throat.

The cell's ringtone plays, and he's immediately accepting the call, holding his breath in hopes that it's Steve.

It is.

"Hey, is this Tony? I got your call but I didn't recognize the number."

"Yeah, it's me. I broke my phone and I have a few backups. Just in case, and all that." Tony sags, some of the tension leaving his muscles; knowing that Steve is okay and not a captive of a crazy, traitorous bitch is incredibly relieving.

"You break your phones often?" Steve chuckles, and there's the sound of people talking in the background.

"Only occasionally. Where are you? I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Great, now his jealousy is back and in full swing. As if he doesn't already have enough to worry about.

"I'm with some friends. I know we're going to meet up on Friday but maybe...maybe you could come over today too?" The uncertainty is clear in his tone, causing Tony to practically melt into the phone pressed against his ear.

"Why is that even a question? Of course I'll come over. Where are you?" 

"Um, grab a pen? I'm not sure how great your memory is."

"Don't worry, I have the best memory, though I admit it's rather difficult to forget some things in my life."  _You, Steve. I mean you._ He feels like a lovesick teenager; he's acting like one too, which doesn't say much considering he has the attention span of a toddler on crack. Not that he endorses children taking drugs; no, no he does not. Metaphors aren't his thing, okay?

"Right." And then the man goes on to rattle off the address, Tony dutifully writing it down. For precaution's sake.

"All right, I'm on my way. I'll be there when I'll be there."

"Bye, Tony. See you soon."

"You too, Steve."

* * *

 "What the fuck are you doing here?" His tone is a frosted whip lashed out at the redhead reclining on the couch, a drink in one hand and a too calm expression.

"Tony?" And that's Steve, sounding worried somewhere behind him, but Tony can't yank his gaze away from the woman who tore out his heart and set him on fire.

"Do you know her, Steve?" He can hear Steve's inhale, and the way his usually steady pulse kicks up. Is he afraid? Shit, he is, isn't he? Damn it, that's not what Tony wanted, all he wanted was to come over and try to enjoy the company of someone he doesn't deserve until that person (Steve) figures it out and goes on to greener pastures.

This is not his day.

"Yeah. It's Natasha, we went to college together." 

"Really? That's interesting. She looks pretty young for a ninety year old woman."

"What? Tony, you're not making any sense." He can see Steve now in the corner of his eye, eyebrows furrowed in a way that would be adorable if it wasn't brought because of the current situation. Meaning he doesn't want Steve looking cute as a result of a backstabbing heartbreaker like the woman perched on the sofa.  

"Is this Tony?" There's a new voice, a man, and Tony turns to where he's emerging from a hallway, staring at them with an inquisitive gaze. 

"Yes, I'm Tony. Who are you?" There's a scent perforating the air, one that doesn't belong to Steve or the-woman-whose-name-shall-not-be-named. It stems from the curly haired, glasses wearing brunette, sharing a resemblance to-

Fucking hell.

"Really?  _Really?_ Excuse us Steve, I need a talk with your friend. Be right back." And he's charging forwards, pulling the man by his elbow to a room, where he closes the door behind them to square off against Steve's companion.

(The room is nice, he notices idly; it's Steve's bedroom, and it's a shame it's because of this that he's seeing it and not a horizontal tango that brings him here.)

"Steve didn't tell me he has a habit of attracting vampires," he growls, keeping the volume down to prevent eavesdropping. "What is your angle here? What do you want from him?"

The man standing across from him appears wearily amused, removing his glasses to rub what must be a smudge from the glass. He puts them back on, then says,"Is it too much of a stretch to believe we're only friends? I don't want anything from him."

"Yeah, and my name is Benjamin Franklin," Tony retorts, his glower unrelenting and only intensifying due to the other's nonchalant attitude.

"I'm sure you know that Steve is a good person. You haven't known him for long but I'm confident you can recognize that." Tony nods; what else is there for him to say? "I didn't have anyone other than Natasha for sixty years, and then I met Steve when Natasha brought him home." He bristles at her name but the man doesn't seem to notice. "I didn't feel uncomfortable around him. He was a nice guy, and I liked him. None of this should make you trust me, but I'm...well, Natasha and I..." He appears flustered now, cheeks flushing red.

Tony knows immediately. "Life partners. You're life partners."

The term is used to describe a sort of bond that develops between a vampire and a human who is compatible with the vampire, a biological type response that involves the vampire being restricted to feed from only their partner, and as for the humans, their lifespan increases drastically. It's the reason Natasha looks hardly a year older than when Tony saw her last; she must have gotten busy.

"This doesn't make any sense. Why doesn't she kill you? She nearly did me, if a friend hadn't arrived in time."

"She...regrets that. She told me she'd known her brother was killed by a vampire and had...panicked."

"Since when does she panic?"

"Since she sets fire to people she cares about." Tony notices the present tense, and he's made even more agitated. He cannot tell Tony that she cares for him when she calls him seventy years later, not to mention she  _tried to burn him alive._ What does he want Tony to do? Forgive? Forget? Hell no. He can't forgive or forget the encompassing agony that had licked and bit at him, trying to turn him into a dish at a barbecue.

"I'm so touched, there are tears in my eyes. Allow me a moment to go hug her and bawl about how much I forgive her and how I'm so glad we can be friends again. Fuck me, really?" 

"Tony?" There's a knock at the door, and he can hear Steve out in the hallway, his clothes rustling softly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just needed a moment," Tony is saying as he pulls open the barrier, plastering on a fake, strained smile. Of course Steve notices it, from the way he's frowning deeply.

"Tony, tell me what's going on. Do you know Bruce and Tasha? Did you guys have some kind of argument a long time ago?" Of course he's noticed; he'd have to be not only blind and deaf but stupid too, not to realize that there's something his friends -and Tony, since he isn't sure where they stand- are keeping from him.

"What?" Tony snorts, pushing at Steve so he can exit the room, where the man named Bruce, apparently, remains. 

"I know you heard me and I know you understand." Steve's jaw is starting to clench, a signal Tony remembers from their last meeting that means he's starting to get pissed off. "I don't like it when my friends lie to me." Ah. That settles it, Tony is a friend. He'd be happy if he weren't so preoccupied with formulating escape plans.

"Look, can we talk about this later? I just remembered I have a meeting to go to. Important stuff that that I can't miss." They're at the main door now, Steve standing in front of him with his arms crossed, which is totally unfair because it makes his biceps bulge in a way that makes Tony want to bite them. Maybe lick them. The point is, they're very distracting.

"I have a feeling you're going to pretend you have no idea what I'm talking about if I bring this up later." Damn it. Damn Steve and his perception, his intuition, his ability to  _know_ people. Damn him and his stupid hair, his ridiculous blue eyes and his sinful lips currently curled downwards.

"Who says I'll be pretending?"

"I just wanted you to come over so we could have a good time!" The exclamation shuts Tony up long enough for Steve to continue (add another thing to damn him about). "I don't want to regret inviting you over. You're a nice guy, Tony, really."

"So you're starting to regret me being here?" That isn't what he wants to say, isn't what he actually means, but his mouth never gets the memo. 

"I might, if you keep acting like it's a crime to talk to me." He's pouting; holy shit he's  _pouting_ and it's the most adorable thing Tony has ever seen. It belongs on a poster.

Right, serious chat going on. Time to get a grip. 

"It's not that, okay? I don't want to bother you with issues we can work out ourselves." When did his life become a soap opera? Now that he thinks about it, his life does seem a little dramatic. All he needs is someone to claim they're pregnant with his kid.

Wait. Someone  _has_ done that.

"I want to help."

"I know, and that's great Steve, it is. But some things are for other people to figure out. Isn't that right guys?"

There's a murmur of agreement behind him, and as much as he despises Natasha, they need to work together -temporarily- to throw Steve off. "See? We're adults. Just find us afterwards and hand us tissues."  _Me. Hand me tissues._

Steve still looks doubtful, but he nods, his teeth releasing his bottom lip. Tony wants to lick that too. 

"Great! Now, what was it you planned to do while I'm here?" Subject change is a great relief. 

"Well I was thinking we could all watch a movie?" The lilt that occurs at the end of the sentence displays his uncertainty; frankly, it's fifty times too endearing.

Is there a pill that can deal with this kind of rapid addiction? He's definitely going to need one when he leaves.

"A movie? Yeah! What movie?" Tony links his arm with one of Steve's, who had released both sometime earlier, probably when he was ogling his face. Oh wait, he does that all the time.

"Titanic?" Fuck. "I haven't seen it before and supposedly that's a violation of some law..."

"We can do that."

"But what about your meeting?"

"I can skip this one." Because it doesn't exist, but it's just a small lie; he has good intentions anyway.

* * *

 "-you won't give up, no matter what happens, no matter how hopeless. Promise me now, Rose, and never let go of that promise."

"I promise." It's here when Steve finally starts crying; Tony could smell the salt earlier, when the scene first started, but now it seems the dam has finally broken. Tony's unhappy too, though it's only because Steve is; the expression on his face is enough to melt anyone's heart.

(How he's never seen the movie is a mystery, though Steve said when the movie started that he hadn't been able to watch much television when he was younger.)

"Never let go."

"I'll never let go, Jack. I'll never let go." Steve's cries are muffled, louder than before despite the hand over his mouth, and Tony places what he hopes is a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Fuck me!" The blonde exclaims, when the credits are rolling, and he doesn't mean it in a literal sense but damn does it elicit the all too familiar roll of arousal in his belly. Bruce can smell it, the bastard, and he's not so secretly smirking on the loveseat he's sharing with Natasha, who is asleep, thankfully.

"What kind of movie is this?" Sniffling, Steve gropes for the tissues Tony had suggested (he'd said he was having urges to sneeze) and wipes his eyes. Tony doesn't realize he's stopped patting in favor of rubbing -not feeling up- until Steve's pushing himself into the touch.

"A sad one."

"Gee, Tony, really?" 

"Whoa, sorry." Tony raises an eyebrow, and Steve flushes, his splotched cheeks deepening.

"I wish we watched something else."

"I know, Steve. It's okay, it's just a movie, right?"

"But it's _real._ " Tony sighs, and he opens his mouth but he's suddenly got some tropical scented hair along with a head tucked in the junction of his neck.

Maybe watching Titanic wasn't such a bad idea after all.


End file.
